Forsworn
by Payprklip
Summary: In the castle of Galbatorix, a baby is born. Her mother, no longer useful, is disposed of and she is raised by wet nurses. She watches Murtagh struggle through the life that is not kind to him and has a few of her own experiences. This story follows Murtagh pre-inheritance (slightly) and during inheritance. NOT A GALBATORIX'S DAUGHTER STORY.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is the same first chapter as my old story 'Seer', but some new details added. It's unusually short, but that's because it's nly an introduction - more of a prologue than a chapter but still. This story will have the same characters as 'Seer', but the storyline will be different as I wasn't really happy with the old one at all. Please review and give me some ideas about where to take the story! I have the next few chapters already written :)**

* * *

Chapter One - Beginning

The woman's screams shattered the air with a battering intensity. It seemed like the atmosphere would shimmer with each cry, as though the weight of the woman's pain was too much to carry and the world was faltering. The darkness that had closed in during the hours that she had been in labour was unnaturally incomplete – as though the sun couldn't decide whether it wanted to shine or not. And by all accounts, the sun is one of the only things we can trust as a constant…when the sun is unsure, it bodes ill for the world. It was early evening after all and by all rights the light should have faded much more by this point. As it was, the bed chamber had a sort of hazy appearance; it was there but not a reality. All the remaining light seemed to flee from one corner as though something that should not have been was expelling it with poisonous force and the shadow that moved slightly within the dark had a murky aura.

The thin, white hands that gripped the thick, wooden bed posts didn't help the appearance of a black and white scene either. Another shriek ensued and the hands clenched; tendons standing in high relief and straining at their human restraints. At her cry, the shadow wavered, a sigh in the still air. It seemed as though it was growing bored with waiting for something to happen and wanted it all to be over in one outcome or another.

"Lady...push again. It's nearly over." The otherwise unseen maid kneeling with a damp cloth to her mistress' clammy forehead spoke urgently, a moan from the tortured woman punctuating her statement. She'd been saying the same thing for nearly an hour now.

The maid's course, brown hair was twisted back into the uniform bun that all of the servants in _that place_ shared. It looked dry and knotted, brittle. It was as though each individual hair would snap in two at the slightest breeze or touch. The lines on her face were deep set and dusted with coal soot from the many fires that she was forced to tend despite the unusually warm weather. Her pale lips were cracked and split in some places – the sandpaper tongue that came out every minute or so to wet them only served to dry them up even more. Above, small eyes squinted through the haze in the short-sightedness that had come with her old age. But the face of her mistress was familiar to her and it would take more than near-blindness to prevent her from recognising the woman that she had served for many long years.

Those years had not been kind to the woman, but in contrast to the old maid's haggard and unkempt appearance, she was beautiful, even in labour. Her thick hair was long, shiny and black as midnight. Her face – though screwed up in agony, betrayed no age or long years labouring in fields. She was pale as moonlight, with soft, full lips that carried just a hint of pink and were parted slightly – forced open by the desperate pants trying to fill her lungs. Her normally dark eyes were bright with pain, glinting with tears that didn't fall.

"I can't!" She cried in a voice as hoarse as a hollering chimney sweep, "I'm so…_tired._"

The maid cooed some reassuring words in a similarly rough voice, but they sounded half-hearted. It was clear that the labour was taking longer than it should for a woman as young and healthy as her mistress. She turned her head towards the shadow with a pleading look, but when her eyes found the evil and her whole body shuddered and her face turned quickly away.

She could not look upon it.

* * *

It was only later, when the sun had finally decided to evacuate and the light had dissipated completely and left the high set windows as faint silhouettes that the first stirrings of a new born could be heard. The woman gave a final sob and then lay heavily on the bed while her maid fussed over a tiny baby that refused to make a sound. Large, blue eyes that were so unlike its mother's simply stared up at the servant solemnly while breaths came in tiny pants – as though it, not the mother, had just been working hard.

"A girl, lady." Came the quiet, drained murmur.

The new mother tried weakly to lift her pale arms. "Give her...please...give her to me..." But the strain was too much on her exhausted body, and they trembled before falling back to her sides awkwardly. The deep red velvet of the top cover seemed to blur the boundaries of her skin, and appeared for all the world to be seeping out of her body.

Regretfully, the old maid again looked over to the shadow and failed to suppress a shiver.

The shadow smirked.

Looking back at her mistress, whose eyes were slowly closing despite the fight she was putting up, the maid shook her head. "You're too weak, lady."

"Please!" The woman too looked for the shadow, knowing that if she wasn't given her child now she would never see it again, "You promised...you _swore_ my child would not be taken away from me!"

The shadow emerged with a lazy swagger and leered down at the woman.

"I lied."

And then Galbatorix, self-proclaimed king of Alagaësia snatched the newborn child out of the arms of the terrified maid and left the room – now empty save from the dead mother, her dead servant and the ringing of the Ancient Language in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So I got a couple of reviews (thank you!) and they were positive, so I'm going to carry on in the same direction as I set out. This chapter is set 7 years later, when Aalina (Ar-leen-a) (the baby) is 7 and Murtagh is 8. She was given to Morzan and Selena as a playmate for Murtagh because it was seen as important for him to have some interaction with a child his age - a child that was strictly controlled and taught to respect the Empire. Please read and review! It means a lot :)**

* * *

Chapter Two – Playmate

Her lungs burned as they struggled to pull in more air that they could take, and still she ran.

Her legs ached as they struggled to push further and faster than they could carry her, and still she ran.

Her cheeks stung as they received numerous scratches from the lashing branches as she whipped past, and still she ran.

The adrenaline pumped through her system and her cheeks felt warm as the blood rushed up to the surface. It was the fear, more than anything, that kept her going. The fear, however foolish, that made sure she pushed herself to her limits in order to escape what was hurtling along behind her.

_Just a bit further._

There! She saw the trees begin to thin out and knew she was close. But the thing chasing her was also close. Dangerously so, and if she didn't speed up even more, the thing would catch her. And gods knew what would happen then.

Her throat began to close in protest, unable to cope with the pressure of sucking in so much precious air but she still forced herself to move faster. The sunlight was now able to force its way through the canopy overhead and bright beams of white shot through the leaves and lit up the forest floor. The brown pine needles that fell daily blanketed the floor in a soft carpet that absorbed all energy and made it even more difficult to run. Oh, if only she were running on a hard surface! She could go so much faster then! But then, so could the thing chasing her.

She smelt the fresh scent of the crushed needles and fleshy bark around her, breathed it in as if it were her lifeline and allowed her lungs to fill up with good, fresh air. The day was still, but as she ran she felt the cool breeze on her skin and was glad for it – she hated running when it was too hot. Around her, birds sang loudly, as if they were giving warning cries to the forest and to her about the thing right on her heels.

_Yes,_ she thought, _I know, I know!_

She was so close to the edge of the forest now. She could almost taste the feeling that came with being out in the open, with nothing but the blue, clear sky far overhead. She could taste too, the delicious victory that came with escaping her pursuer.

_Yes!_

She shot out of the trees and into the meadow that marked its edge. She squealed with glee at her escape, ignoring the servants that looked around in shock as they went about their daily chores: carrying piles of laundry, cutting the grass or pruning immaculate hedges. She didn't care about them because they never spoke to her – well, only to ask her if she needed anything. And they didn't care about her, not so long as she kept out of the way and avoided breaking anything irreplaceable.

Her momentary glee was shattered as the thing that had been chasing her followed her from the trees and bowled into her, tackling her firmly to the ground and straddling her.

"Ha!" The thing shouted, voice full of elation, "So _there_, Lina! Caught you!"

"No!" She squealed through a mouthful of grass, "I got out of the forest, I'm in the safe-zone!"

She wriggled hopefully, but the thing sat on top of her didn't budge. She heard him panting just as hard as her and was glad that it wasn't only her that was out of breath.

"_No,_" The thing argued back, "I caught you _before_ you got to the safe-zone!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

She finally succeeding in rolling over and facing her captor. He was grinning down at her with all the looks of a champion, utterly sure that he was right. The sun behind his head gave his dark brown hair a shiny quality, and the waves that never straightened were strewn with twigs and sweaty.

"Did _not!_" She snapped, "I was in the safe-zone!"

He laughed and stood up, cheeks still flushed from the chase. He offered her a hand, but she promptly ignored him, clambering ungracefully to her feet without his help. It didn't help that her long skirt kept getting caught between her legs and tangling them together.

"It's your own fault, Lina, you weren't fast enough," He told her, thoroughly pompously. His eyes shined with what she could only describe as _smugness_.

"It's _not_ my fault," She countered as she dusted off her dress, "I'm wearing a dress – that makes it more difficult to run than if you're wearing trousers. _And _I'm smaller than you – _and _younger. And anyway, I _was _in the safe-zone."

They started walking up to the shadow of the estate together, avoiding the lines strung with just-washed clothes and bustling servants. He rolled his eyes at her in a very grown-up way. She hated it when he did that because it was his way of acting like a proper adult and showing her that because he was a year older than her, he was more mature.

"_Sure_, Lina, whatever you say. You shouldn't be a poor loser," He boasted, "It isn't lady-like."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are, Lina," He insisted, "You're a poor loser!"

She fumed. She _hadn't _lost. He was only saying that because he wanted to be able to tell everyone that he was faster than her and not that he was beaten by a girl. _He_ was the poor loser.

He laughed at her expression, breathing now back to normal, "Oh come on, let's go and get some food. I'm hungry."

She pursed her lips and said nothing.

"Oh, are you giving me the silent treatment just because I caught you?"

"You _didn't_ catch me!" She shouted, immediately regretting that she couldn't keep her mouth shut for two seconds, "I was in the safe-zone!"

He grinned triumphantly at having gotten her to break her silence only seconds after she'd started it, just like he always did. She felt her cheeks darken in a blush. She was embarrassed because she knew what he was thinking: _Silly, Lina, can never stop talking, no matter what._

"Oh shut up, Tag!"

He laughed again because he knew that she knew what he was thinking, and he knew that she knew it was true. But despite being annoying, he _was_ her best friend (her _only _friend, since there were no other children on the estate) and he knew when to stop teasing her. He took her arm, steering her towards the main entrance and up the steps that were dutifully swept each day.

"Come on…"

They pattered though the entrance hall and down a set of steps that led to the kitchens. It was mid-afternoon, but they'd been too busy playing to have lunch, and now they were both in need of re-fuelling.

The kitchens were boiling hot, on account of the fires that blazed in the hearths all day, and the two children wiped their brows simultaneously with their sleeves. One of the plump cooks turned away from where she was assaulting a rump-steak with a wooden rolling-pin to make it extra tender, and smiled down at them. She was particularly fond of the two children, and liked to mother over them. It made them both rather awkward at times, since neither of them had a mother and weren't sure how to respond – especially since she was of a lower class than them. Sometimes Tornac would have to step in and send her back to the kitchens were she belonged.

"Ah, what would my little chickens like for lunch today? Have you managed to lose your nurse already?" She had a matronly voice, but it was somewhat cracked by years of inhaling the smoke in the kitchens.

Of course they'd managed to lose their nurse. They did it every day after they were released from lessons with Tornac. They both hated her because she never let them do _anything_ fun. So they just ran away from her and hid until she gave up looking for them.

"Just lamb mince," Said Tag dismissively, not caring for her motherly attitude.

She nudged him with her elbow, trying to get him to be polite and say 'please', but Tag was never polite to the servants. It was like he had no time for them.

"You'll have to have a few vegetables or your tutor will have my head!" The cook laughed, good naturedly, turning away.

"_I_ could have your head, if I wanted," Tag said.

She gasped, shocked that he would say something like that. But he was probably just showing off to her about how grown-up he was, now he was eight.

The cook paled and went quickly over to where she assumed the lamb mince was.

She looked crossly at Tag, "You didn't have to say that. It was very rude."

He looked smugly at her, "But it's true. Tornac told me that because I'm a lord I can have people killed if I want," He waited for her to be impressed. She was, but she didn't show it.

"But you _won't_," She insisted, "You would _never _kill someone, would you?"

"I might," He argued, "If I wanted."

She felt a flicker of unease in her stomach, and it must of shown in her eyes because he reassured her quickly, "Of _course_, I won't! Not _really_," He said, giving her a smile.

She smiled back. Of course he wouldn't. Not Tag, he'd never hurt anyone.

The cook came back with two wooden blocks topped with mince and a few steamed vegetables. They even got proper iron forks like the ones the grown-ups used. Feeling very pleased with themselves, she and Tag made their way back up the steps and then up the main staircase. They followed the familiar route to their bedrooms, which stood next-door to each other. They sat on the window seat in Tag's room and swung their legs back and forth as they tucked into the well-needed food. To their backs and not too far into the distance stood the huge, black city surrounded by old walls and towers and backed by a sheer cliff face. The king's castle was only a few hours ride away, and they both knew that he was making sure that he kept a close eye on them as they grew up. But for now Tornac was allowed to over-see their education. Well, it was Tag really that everyone was so focused on, she was only here to keep him company. No one really cared about what happened to her.

Except Tag. He was her best friend. (Her only friend).

But that meant that she was _his _only friend too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long, I just wasn't too sure what I wanted to do with the story. A little more insight into the lives that Aalina and Murtagh lead in this chapter. It's two years on (roughly) from the previous chapter, so Murtagh is ten and Aalina is very nearly eight. In re-reading the last chapter I noticed that I had written 'should of' or something of the like and have to apologise for such apalling grammar: 'should _have_' would have been correct. Onwards.**

* * *

Aalina held back a heavy sigh. It was mid-winter and the snow was falling steadily outside the window. The white flakes were thick and silent, and settled on the ground gracefully, folding over the flakes that were already there. She wished _she _could be that graceful. Sometimes, when she and Tag were _very_ lucky, an acting troop would be allowed to perform to them in the great hall where they ate, while some musicians played merrily in the minstrel's galley above. She and Tag would sit at the high table on the raised platform at the end of the hall like proper grown ups and the servants would eat their meals at the long, rough tables that stretched to the doors. Tornac would of course sit with them and make sure that they behaved themselves and ate their vegetables before their pudding. On the rare occasions that the actors visited, the two children would wolf down their food as fast as they could without Tornac chastising them, and Tag would gesture as grandly and lord-like as he could for the actors to be brought in. A make-shift stage would have been constructed and the troop would begin reciting their lines dramatically. Aalina loved their confidence and passion and the way their gestures were so refined. She tried to be like that, always. The women characters would usually end up being kidnapped and locked in a room with only a bed, and would sigh and drape themselves over the sheets with a hand to their forehead. 'Ah, me!' They would sigh, 'Ah, me!' They reminded her of snowflakes, the way they were so delicate and gentle and graceful. Even though she knew the actors were really young boys dressed up, she still aspired to be as graceful as them. Sometimes she wondered if Murtagh would come to rescue her if she were ever to be captured, and she would peek at him under her hair. His face would be bored – he didn't like the scenes with the 'girls' in, because he thought they were boring. She would turn back and suppose that they were, but she loved them all the same because of the beauty and grace. 'Ah, me!' The actors would sigh in lovely voices. 'Ah, me!' She would mouth along with them.

"Aalina, are you listening?"

She sat up straighter and reluctantly withdrew her gaze from the beautiful, silent snowflakes. Tag hated the snow because it was frigid and slippery and melted to horrible brown slush and their nurse wouldn't allow them to play outside all winter because it was too dangerous. She would always agree when he complained, but secretly, she loved the snow – just because she got to see it fall. On the days when the snow would drift from the sky in the early morning when she was still abed she would scowl and be in a foul mood all day because she missed the show.

"Yes, Master Tornac," She straightened her back and tried to sit the way the actors did when they played the tragic young women. She always did this, and she knew the posture off by heart: legs crossed at the ankle and extended back and to the left of her body, hands neatly clasped in her lap and back straight: chin up. She tried and tried and _tried_ to get it right, even practised for ages in the mirror in her room (not that she would ever tell Tag that!) but it never seemed to be right. Her body was not developed enough. She didn't have the pale, smooth skin of the actors' – hers was tanned and scratched because she played outside in the sun so much (though in the winter it was a little better). She didn't have the narrow waist that the actors' corsets gave them because her nurse said that little girls shouldn't wear corsets because they damaged growing ribs, and however much she begged to wear one, she was denied. She didn't have the womanly hips that the actors' petticoats gave them because her nurse said that petticoats were for grown ups and she couldn't wear them yet. She didn't have the small breasts that the actors' padding gave them either. Her nurse said that these would grow in time. These were what Aalina wanted the most, because they were a symbol of womanhood and grace. She couldn't wait until they started to grow. Sometimes she balled up the hose that were in her drawers and paraded around her room at night when she had been put abed just to see what they would look like. She was pleased.

A small smile graced the weathered tutor's lips, "Well, do tell me the name of the first dragon of our lord and master, King Galbatorix?" At the mention of his name, Tornac's lips twisted, as if they were rebelling against allowing the sounds to be formed.

He knew full well she had not been listening. Heaven knew how long she had been watching the snow for. She tried desperately to think of the name, but she could not even remember learning that Galbatorix had been joined to a dragon before his current one, let alone its name. She lowered her eyes, "I'm sorry, Master Tornac, I don't know."

"I see," He said, "What about the name of his current dragon, who lives with him in Urû'baen?"

A lump formed in her throat. She _hated _being humiliated, and it was worse when other people were around, "I'm sorry, Master Tornac, I don't know."

"And why is that?" His eyes glinted, pressing the weight of her shame down further.

"Because…" She whispered.

"Yes?"

"Because I wasn't listening, Master Tornac," Her lip trembled, "I'm sorry."

"Mm," He looked across the table at her severely and then turned to the boy sitting next to her, "Murtagh? Do _you_ know the answers?"

She felt Tag sit up straighter, "Jarnunvӧsk and Shruiken," He declared, proudly. She turned to glare at him and he beamed, boastfully back.

"Well done. You may go now, Murtagh, that's the end of the lesson. But since Aalina, you have not been listening, I think you should stay and hear the lesson again, hmm?"

She was horrified, "Yes, Master Tornac."

Murtagh grinned and jumped up, "See ya later, Lina! _Have fun._"

She bridled at his teasing and felt her face go red. He bounced to the door and was gone. She realised she'd been slouching again and straightened. It wasn't fair. It was her birthday tomorrow and Tornac was making her stay in lesson while Murtagh was allowed to go and play! '_I hate you'_, she almost said to Tornac, but stopped herself. The tragic women in the plays never said that, no matter how hard their troubles were. They simply draped themselves across the sheets and said 'Ah, me!'. She imagined herself doing that now, and resolved to take her torture in silence, imagining that she was a beautiful princess and Tornac was her captor. She pretended that Tag was riding on a war horse to rescue her and smite down the evil Tornac with his sword, only to ride off with her and marry her, and give her lots of babies.

* * *

"I'm _sorry_, Master Tornac!" She moaned two hours later, "I'm _trying_. Really!"

It wasn't her fault. Murtagh was clever and academic. He was good at remembering little things and had a delicate hand that was perfect for art and music. He loved to play the piano and she loved to listen – he was so skilled it took her breath away. On the rarest of the _rare_ occasions, he would deign to sing, and it would light up her whole being. He was good at dancing too, the slow, stately ballroom dances and the faster, more complicated steps that Tornac taught them. He found these steps easy and natural, which meant that when they had soldiery lessons he was light and quick, swinging the swords and spears gracefully. He was good at all of the things that Tornac taught them. She, on the other hand, was not. She could never remember what they had learnt the day before, let alone the names and dates of the history lessons. It wasn't that she wasn't _good _at art and music, it was just that Murtagh was better. It wasn't that she didn't _enjoy_ playing the piano – or even the harp or lyre, it was just that she enjoyed listening to Murtagh more. Dancing was easy for her because Murtagh would remember all the steps and lead her around the room and all she had to do was copy him and smile. Dancing was the thing she tried hardest at too, because the tragic women in the plays were always beautiful dancers and she wanted to be just like them. In the soldiery lessons she didn't even bother trying to remember the drills or how to hold and loose a spear because the tragic women in the plays _never_ fought and the idea abhorred her. She preferred to spend her time pretending a brave knight like Murtagh was riding to save her while she draped herself over the sheets and sighed 'Ah, me!' It was this that got her in the most trouble. While she played make believe her mind wandered and she didn't listen to the lessons that Tornac gave. He usually ended the mornings at his wits end. She didn't really mind though, because watching Murtagh paint and dance and play the piano was fine enough for her.

"You have the shortest attention span of anyone that I have ever had the misfortune to teach!" He exclaimed. It was two hours past noon now…two hours after the lessons usually finished, but it was not unusual to see the two of them still sitting there and struggling on into the mid-afternoons.

"I am trying." She repeated. She really was, it was just…she didn't _care_ about the king and the wars he had won. He wasn't here, she didn't know him…she'd never met him. "Can I go now, please, Master Tornac?"

He sighed, "Very well. Off with you!"

She did her best at standing up the way a lady might and making her way towards the door with her chin up, but she was all knees and elbows and ribs and it wasn't nearly as graceful as she had envisioned in her head. She wished she was like Tag, the son of an aristocrat, very much the miniature aristocrat himself: handsome (even at ten), tall (for his age) and talented (as much as a ten year old could be). She was just the daughter of some woman who had died in childbirth. Not particularly pretty, average height and with not enough attention span to ever see if she had any talents.

Oh well, it was her birthday tomorrow. She would be eight years old! At this thought she ran off to find Tag, and all dark thoughts disappeared from her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Omg I'm soooo sorry I haven't updated in ages! Argh! Just couldn't bring myself to sit down and write. Hopefully I'll upload another chapter soon as I'm currently writing it. In this chapter we get to find out how Murtagh loses his virginity - but don't worry, it's not explicit and there's no *scene*, just the discussion about it the day after *very* vaguely. Also he's a massive dick in this scene :( **

* * *

Tag was in trouble this morning. She could tell. They sat at the breakfast table as usual and ate their usual meals, but there was a tension in the air. Breakfast was always spent in the Great Hall, and they always sat at the long table on the platform, but the servants, who always ate very early, were never present. None of this had changed, and neither had the presence of Tornac hovering over them like a hawk waiting to swoop if they misbehaved, but she felt awkward. The silence was profound. When she'd entered (fashionably late, as a lady always should) Tornac and Tag had been engaged in a heated discussion, but broke off immediately upon spotting her. It had confused her, but she had shaken the feeling off and smiled brightly as she sat and her fruit was brought to her. Mango was her favourite.

"Good morning!" She chimed happily.

Neither of them answered.

She flushed and frowned, busying herself with cutting the fruit. For a while, all that could be heard was the sound of scraping and chewing. She felt unnaturally loud. She risked a glance to her left. Murtagh was scowling.

* * *

Later on, after they'd finished the morning lesson and were released to play, she followed Tag outside and into the wood. Feeling unbearably out of it, she ran up behind him and landed a blow on his shoulder.

"You're it!" She laughed and ran off, but quickly realised he wasn't following. She frowned and walked back to him, "Tag?"

"Don't call me that!" He snapped, surprising her, "My name is 'Murtagh'!"

Her jaw dropped open. She had always called him 'Tag'. Always.

"But I always –"

"I know you do! But you shouldn't! That's not my name."

Her throat closed. It was silly, she knew, but she felt insulted. Was he angry because of her?

"Sorry…"

He didn't reply, stomping off into the forest ahead of her. Her legs were a lot shorter than his, and it took a while to catch up. When she did, he was slowing down any way.

"How dare he? He had no right!"

"Who?" She asked, eager to know what was going on.

"Tornac, of course!"

"Of course…" She murmured.

He kicked a tree root, "He's a stupid old man. I hate him!"

"I don't think he's stupid –"

"Well, he is!"

"But he's our teacher!"

"Shut up, Lina! If you don't have anything _right_ to say in that stupid, loud mouth of yours, don't say it at all!"

She froze. Of course, they'd had arguments before, every child did. He'd called her stupid many times…but it never hit so close to home…never felt like he actually meant it…until now. Her eyes filled up with tears.

"Sorry…"

He snorted, "He _is _stupid."

"Yeah." She assured him earnestly, hoping he would forgive her for being so stupid and loud, "Come on, forget about him. Let's play!"

"Don't be so stupid! I don't play games any more. I became a proper man yesterday. That means no more games – _or _nicknames." He looked at her pointedly.

She was confused, "What do you mean? It was your fourteenth birthday yesterday, not your sixteenth."

He snorted again. On any other boy it would have been ugly, but he managed to make the noise sound superior and aristocratic, "I don't mean in _age, _Lina. I mean I took a woman! For the first time, I mean, now I'm a man."

Now she understood why Tornac had been so angry with him this morning. Obviously one of the serving girls that had been in attendance for his birthday celebration yesterday decided to give him a present all of her own. Her face heated up.

"You mean –"

"Yes, Lina!" He snapped, impatient, "_I bedded a woman._ A _proper_ woman, with hips and soft breasts – not like _you_, a _child_."

She blinked but he had turned away. Why did he have to be so mean? She would be turning twelve this winter – and that meant that her courses would start soon, or so her nurse said. Then her breasts would start to grow and her hips would widen. Not long yet.

"What – what was it like?" She whispered, not trusting her voice not to waver in her upset.

He turned back towards her and shrugged like it was nothing, "Alright. She was very loud. I didn't like that. But she was soft. I enjoyed that. She smelled nice…but it was…sort of…" He grimaced, "…wet."

"Wet?"

He nodded, "I can't even remember what her name is. We fell asleep after and the maids that came in to get me ready this morning found her and started screeching about it," He was scowling, "Then Tornac came in and saw. He told her to get dressed and go about her duties and never come to my bed again. He has no right!"

"No…" She reassured him, letting him know that she was on his side, "_You _are the lord of the house. The servants obey _you_."

His chest swelled, "They do. Right. _I'm the lord._" He repeated.

"Did you think she was beautiful?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, of course! Do you think _I _would settle for anything less than beautiful? More beautiful than _you_, Lina."

She couldn't help the flashes of jealousy surging through her. She had always wanted to be beautiful and graceful and womanly. How could _she _be jealous of a servant? It was preposterous.

"Oh."

He took a step forward, pressing his point, "She was," He said, "She was a lot more beautiful than you. You're barely even pretty. But she was beautiful. And she was a proper woman and you're not. I don't know why they gave you to me, you won't satisfy me."

She backed away until her back hit a tree, but he kept advancing, staring down at her in triumph. With every word she stung more, "That's why you're here, did you know? Your parents weren't anyone important, not like _mine_. _I'm_ a lord, and you're nothing. You're only here to be my _companion_, and you aren't doing a very good job. They wanted you to be the first woman I bedded, but you're not beautiful enough. Even Tornac said that was why you were here when I asked him ages ago; he said you were here to _entertain_ me. He said 'entertain', Lina, you're no better than a court joker – and no better looking!"

She did something then that she had never done before and had only ever seen the actors do in the plays. She raised her tiny hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. She heard the crack ring out in the forest loudly and they both froze. She had left a red mark across his cheek and he had even staggered a little when the blow had landed. He stared at her in shock – no one had _ever _struck him before. Of course they hadn't! He was the little lord and _no one_ was to raise a hand to him, not even Tornac.

She was in _so much trouble_.

Terrified of the rebuke, she did the only thing she could think of: she ran.

She whirled around and pelted back to the castle as fast as she could. Icy fear gripped her chest and coursed through her veins, shocking her into a state of numbness. She could not feel the aching of her lungs nor the searing of her throat, nor hear the wind in the trees. She never stumbled, only kept straight and allowed low hanging branches to whip her face, scratching the skin. Dry sobs ripped their way from her mouth and she somehow knew her eyes were streaming with tears – although she couldn't feel them.

They hadn't been as far away from the castle as she'd thought, and she quickly flew out of the woods and onto the lawns. Not pausing to even check if he was pursuing her, she fled past the surprised servants who had busied themselves with chores: laundry and fetching water and such. Her tiny feet leapt up the stairs to the main doors as if they had a mind of their own and she was forced to reach down and pull her skirts up a little so that they were out of the way and didn't trip her.

It had been her plan to run straight to her room and barricade herself in and throw herself across the bed and sigh 'Ah, me!" and sob into the pillows, but this was ruined by the person that she smacked straight into in the entrance hall. She bounced off and nearly fell – which would have been an embarrassment to itself - but managed to regain her footing.

"Aalina? What happened?"

Brilliant. Tornac stood over her.

* * *

A while later, she had been tucked up in bed by the maids after Tornac had guided her up to her room and sat with her while she sobbed, both with fear and insult. Tag had been so mean to her and acted as though he was _pleased_ that he was hurting her so much. She explained to Tornac - through many sobs and snivels - what had happened and everything that had been said, and even admitted how scared she had been as Murtagh had cornered her against the tree. He was so much bigger than her and so much stronger and she sobbed as she recounted her genuine fear that he would physically hurt her.

"It's alright," Tornac had kept saying.

"But I struck him!" She had wailed, "He'll…he'll h-have me s-s-strung up from a t-tree! He'll have me…f-flogged!"

"No, he will not," Tornac had said clearly, "I'll be having words with him and he'll come and apologise, and you'll make up and forget about it."

And that was that. He had stood and sent for some maids and her nurse, and she had been given a hot bath (which she enjoyed immensely) and dried and given a fresh shift and settled in bed and told to get some rest before the evening meal. She had to admit she was extremely tired. It didn't take long for her to drift off to sleep, and she dreamt dreams of knights and princesses and rescue and gallantry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Oh gosh, I'm so sorry for not updating in so long! I haven't abandoned this, I promise! This chapter has been sitting unfinished on my laptop for ages and I had a burst of inspiration, so here:**

* * *

One morning, a few days after her twelfth birthday, she woke up with terrible stomach pains. It was the early hours, and the sun still had not risen enough to light up her room. Surprised, she moaned and curled up, clutching her hands to her stomach. Her nightgown shifted with her and crinkled up beneath her ribs, making the position uncomfortable, but she didn't care. Her lip quivered and she fought the urge to cry out.

For half an hour she lay quivering and biting her lip before giving up and deciding to go and find some help. She sat up and suddenly the room span and her face flushed hotly. She breathed deeply and screwed her eyes shut until she felt steady again. Her pain doubled and this time she did cry out – loudly. She sobbed and put her hands to her face, balling her fists up and pressing them to her eyes.

After a few minutes the pain subsided again and she was able to stand. Her feet hit the cold rug and she hurried to find her dressing gown and slippers. As she bent down to slip them on, she gasped in horror: the front of her nightgown was stained red and it looked as though she'd been stabbed.

She screamed.

Fumbling for her stomach, she tried to see where the wound was – how could this have happened?! Had she been stabbed in her sleep? Where was Murtagh?! Was he alright?! Her question was answered as he burst into the room, followed by a maid wrapped in only a sheet – clearly he hadn't spent the night alone…_again._

When he saw her his eyes widened: "Lina! What happened?! Are you alright?!"

"Of course I'm not!" She screamed back.

"What do we do?!" His eyes were wide and staring, horrified at seeing her covered in so much blood.

She didn't have a chance to answer before her nurse ran in, out of breath and sweating. The over-weight, greasy haired woman had probably only been a few floors away. She took one look at Aalina and relaxed. She breathed deeply for a second, probably catching her short breath and regaining some sort of balance.

"My Lord Murtagh," She said, "Little lord, it's alright, go back to your chambers if you would. The little lady will be fine."

They stared at each other, bewildered, "What do you mean?! She's hurt!" Tag cried.

Her nurse shook her head, "Not an injury, little lord, nothing to worry yourself about."

The maid tugged on Tag's hand, "Come back to bed, my lord," She purred happily, "All is right…"

Tag looked torn between making sure Aalina was alright and accompanying his latest conquest back to bed – no doubt not for sleeping. The maid quickly won, and Tag allowed himself to be pulled from the room with one, fleeting glance back at her. The door shut smartly behind them.

The nurse approached her, "Now, dear, don't panic. I know this seems like a lot of blood, but it's really not. Now come, let's get you cleaned up."

Aalina was confused out of her mind, "I don't –" Weren't they doing to heal her?

The nurse smiled, "Your courses, dear, don't worry about it. You're a woman, now."

Courses? _This _was what a woman's courses were? _This _would happen to her every month for the rest of her life? Horror. She had never had a mother, never had anyone to really talk to her about the changes her body would go through in order to become a woman. Instead she had had to settle for her nurse, who glorified everything and coddled her, making sure her mistress never had a thing to worry about. When they had spoken about courses before, Aalina had never really been sure what exactly they were – only that they would happen.

"It hurts…" She whimpered.

"Of course it does!" Her nurse smiled, "The pain is punishment from the gods for not being born a man! You must embrace it."

She stared.

Nurse went to her wardrobe and fished out a clean shift for her before going over to the bell pull that would summon a servant from downstairs and ringing it smartly. She smiled sweetly at Aalina and gestured for her to come closer.

"Take that dirty thing off and you'll feel much better. Come now! The maids are going to run you a nice, hot bath and we'll give you some rags to wear under your skirts and you'll go to lesson good as new."

Aalina took off her stained shift. She did not feel better. The maids came and ran her a nice, hot bath. They gave her some rags to wear under her skirts. She did not go to lesson good as new.

She had to force herself into the hall at breakfast time. Her maids had done her hair especially nicely today, but she didn't feel very pretty. She felt hot and tired and disgusting. She moved stiffly up to the table and sat down next to Tag, trying to avoid eye contact because she didn't want to talk. The serving maids had set the table with fruits and breads and tiny little fish. They'd even included her favourite drink, a sweet cranberry juice. She didn't want any of it.

"Are you quite alright, Aalina? Murtagh has told me what happened this morning."

She nodded.

"You look very pale. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. The room span.

"Has your nurse given you something to help with the pain?"

"She said the pain is the gods' way of punishing me for not being born a man. I should embrace it, she says." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Tornac snorted, "Confounded woman. What a foolish idea."

After that it was much better. Tornac sent for her nurse and scolded her for being so archaic – despite the fact she was the same age as he. He told the maids to fetch some poppy seeds and escort Aalina back to her room so she could curl up under her blankets and get some rest. That was when Aalina decided there was a good thing about her moonblood – people fussed over her. She asked for extra blankets and the ones she got were soft and thick. She asked for extra pillows and the ones she got were longer than her arm. She asked for a bed warmer and instead was brought a proper hot water bottle, the copper wrapped up in a cosy to prevent her from getting burnt. She found that pressing it to her stomach greatly helped with the pain – especially after they gave her poppy seeds.

She spent the whole day curled up, hugging her hot water bottle and nestling her face into her new blankets. She liked the feel of the soft material against her cheek. She drifted in and out of sleep peacefully and by the evening she felt well enough to eat. She was brought her favourite fruit (peaches, of course) in bed, with a tall goblet of cranberry juice. She really was being spoilt rotten. By that time, her hot water bottle had cooled down so she was given a replacement and a top-up of poppy seeds and sent to sleep for the night.

* * *

The next morning found her wide awake before the sun had risen once again. She felt refreshed, warm and happy. She rang the bell pull and told her maids to run her another bath. This time, she spent a long time relaxing in the hot water with her eyes closed. Annoyance ran through her when her nurse shook her shoulder and brought her out of her relaxed state.

"Are you ready to get clean, Aalina? I think you should try going to lesson today – you missed an important one yesterday and Tornac will want you to catch up."

Strangely, she didn't mind the thought of going to lesson. She did feel much better – but she'd make sure to take her hot water bottle with her just in case she started getting pains again. She sat up and let the maids fuss about her, cleaning her body and washing her hair.

"Aalina, you're a woman now," Her nurse suddenly said, "Now you'll be treated like a woman."

Aalina frowned, "What do you mean?"

"A woman does not have hairy legs, Aalina. A woman has smooth legs for her husband. She wears fragrance so that she smells nice for him. She wears corsets so that her waist is narrow."

"But…I'm not married."

"No, but now that you are a woman, you soon will be."

"I don't understand…"

"Don't worry, child. Allow the men to find a husband for you. That is their job. Now, show me your legs, I have a paste that will remove the hair from it."

Aalina held out a leg and the maids used special sticks to lather a foul smelling grey paste onto her skin. They waited for a few minutes, and then used the same sticks to scrap off the mixture. She stroked her leg, wondering at the soft feel of them. All the hair was completely gone. She sat as the maids moved onto her other leg, stroking the skin again and again…it was no secret that Aalina loved soft things.

When they were done, she was taken out of the bath and toweled dry. She was given fresh rags for between her legs and a clean shift was pulled over her head. Nurse then showed her a new corset. It was small – fitted for her body – and looked highly structured.

"You're very lucky to be in this situation, you know. The paste we used on your legs is highly expensive and only nobles can afford it. Other ladies must shave, which leaves their legs red and sore. You have a full ensemble of new corsets and dresses, while other ladies only have one set. You are able to lie in bed when you have your courses, while other ladies must work. You have a selection of fragrances to make you smell nice, while other women have none. You should be grateful."

Aalina's eyes widened. She was showing herself to be ungrateful?! That would not do! She was a lady, and ladies were kind and sweet and gentle and they _always_ remembered their manners.

"I am grateful, nurse!" She said, "I am very grateful. Thank you for choosing all of these nice things for me."

That satisfied her. The maids wrapped the corset around her body and began lacing it up. It took a while to do, but it was worth it because she felt like a proper lady with it on, she –

***Whoosh*** All the air went out of her lungs at once as the maids yanked on the laces as hard as they could.

"What are you doing?! I can't breathe!"

"It must be tight, mi'lady."

Not that tight, surely! No…it was too uncomfortable, she could barely breathe and the bones sewn into the material were cutting into her skin, even through the shift. But she kept quiet, because ladies never complained…they just draped themselves over their covers and sighed 'Ah, me…'

After they'd finished lacing her up, she stepped into the shell of a new dress (apparently everything was new because none of her old dresses were designed to be paired with a corset) and then was sat down at her dressing table. She smelled all of the fragrances, and chose a soft, fruity one that carried a hint of grape. She thought it was lovely. They dabbed it behind her ears and on her wrists and then combed out her long hair.

* * *

That afternoon, after she and Tag had been released from lesson, they walked together along the pond that was dug in the grounds.

"I missed you yesterday." He said, suddenly.

"Really?"

He nodded, "The lesson was really boring without you there getting all the answers wrong."

That stung, "Hey!"

He laughed, "Why do you smell strange?"

"It's perfume. Nurse is going to make me wear it from now on because I'm a woman now, she says. Do you like it?"

"A woman?" His nose wrinkled and he looked her up and down, "You still look like a child to me."

That stung even more, "But I've started my courses now, so that makes me a woman."

"But you don't look like one. All the women I've seen have breasts. _You _don't have breasts."

She flushed, "I will soon. And look, I'm wearing a corset now so my waist is narrow!" She proudly did a spin for him.

"Oh yes. I suppose it is narrow."

"Anyway, the women you've seen are only maids. They're not proper _ladies._ A _lady_ would never sleep with a man unless he was her husband."

Tag snorted, "More fool them, then." Then he laughed again, "I thought you'd been stabbed!"

She recalled the morning before, "Me too."

They looked at each other and laughed again. He offered her his arm and she gladly took it.

* * *

**I'm sorry if this seems kinda rushed! It honestly wasn't...I guess it kinda just came out as a long list of 'and then they did this and then they did that' Urgh, I'm not happy with this but I needed to get this point in Aalina's life out of the way so that I could continue with the story**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Yes, I know I have been away for far too long. However, I have been having a serious case of writer's block! I have tried to write Chapter 6 multiple times and always given up...It has taken me sooo long to write this chapter, and I don't like it at all! But I really wanted to put something up, so please don't be too disappointed. **

* * *

The clanging of metal on metal sounded on the flat as Aalina practiced her posture. She was sat on one of the heavy marble benches, watching Murtagh spar with Tornac. Now thirteen, she had been a woman for a whole year, and point blank refused to practice soldiery anymore. Thankfully, Tornac had permitted her to sit and watch when Murtagh had his lessons, which suited her just fine. The only irksome thing about the whole affair was the occasional glint of the sun reflecting off the pair of steel blades and blinding her momentarily. It was unlady-like to wince

Ever since she'd started wearing corsets and underskirts and perfume, she'd felt much more lady-like. It pleased her to no end to think that she cut a much more striking figure than she had done a year or so before. Her breasts had even started to develop (a fact that she took great pains to remind Tag about as often as possible).

"Agh!"

There was a small thud as Tag dropped his sword (blunted of course) and staggered away from their tutor. He was clutching his wrist tightly and scowling. Tornac walked forwards calmly and raised his own sword to the boy's temple, where his dark hair met his tanned skin.

"Dead."

Murtagh huffed, "I've had enough now."

"You've had enough when I say you have," Tornac's voice was even, but there was a hint of warning in it.

"We've been sparring for hours. And anyway, I can't carry on, you've injured me."

"We've been sparring for a mere half hour. Your perception of time is weak, Murtagh. Perhaps if you had spent your night sleeping as you were supposed to, you wouldn't feel so tired now – nor, by extension, would you have such a lack of concentration. Pick up your sword."

"My wrist is injured."

"A bruise. Really, Murtagh, you are a poor swordsman if you let your enemy defeat you for one bruise."

Murtagh's expression darkened. He was not used to people telling him he was not good at something, and there was a distinct note of mocking in Tornac's voice. Murtagh did not like to be mocked. For a moment, Aalina held her breath, half expecting Tag to spit or curse or walk away. But, ever the aristocrat, he did none of those things. She relaxed as he reached down to retrieve his sword.

"Thwack!"

Tornac struck out hard at his unprotected charge and caught the back of his head. Aalina gasped in shock as Tag cried out loudly and straightened.

"What in the name of hell is wrong with you?!"

He was clutching his head furiously, forehead lined dangerously. Aalina stood quickly and ran over – making sure to pick up her skirts so that she didn't tread on them and trip herself. She reached them before Tornac had a chance to answer and clutched at Tag's elbow.

"Are you alright?"

He looked down at her, face still tight with anger.

"He's fine. That'll teach you to always stay on guard." Tornac offered.

"Stay on guard…like hell!" Murtagh growled, "Any harder and you would've cracked my skull open."

Tornac sighed, "Don't over react, it's –"

"I don't care. We're done."

"We're not done until I say –"

"No. We're done."

He wheeled around, throwing his sword aside viciously. He looked like a small child having a tantrum, but Aalina knew he was in a serious amount of pain. Quite possibly, he was also secretly burning with humiliation. She followed him hurriedly, hoping that he wouldn't lash out at her in his temper as he often did.

* * *

When they got to the castle, they went straight to his room. Tag lay on the bed sulkily whilst she tugged on the bell pull to summon a maid that could bring poppy seeds to help with his pain.

"That was terrible of him," She murmured, standing worriedly over him. It was early in the year and the room was chilly, making her wrap her cloak around herself tightly.

"He's a bastard…" Tag muttered, "I hate him."

She was shocked. Gentlemen and lords didn't use foul language like that – nor did they profess to 'hate' their tutors. Nervously, Aalina climbed onto the bed with him. She settled herself near his head, but he didn't seem to mind her closeness.

"Does it hurt awfully?" She asked, biting her lip.

"…Yes," He admitted after a short time, "My ears are ringing and it feels like the light is burning my eyes."

"Close them then," She suggested immediately. Sometimes, when she had her courses, she found her eyes were hurt by the light too. Happily, she offered, "I could close the curtains too, if you'd like?"

He nodded slowly and winced with the movement. Wanting to comfort him as best she could (for after all, it was what she was there for, she supposed) she slid off the bed and wrenched the drapes around the windows shut. The room instantly darkened.

"My lord?" There was a knock on the door, "Do you require something?"

"Enter," Aalina called graciously.

The door opened and a young maid stepped inside. She wore a somewhat scruffy dress that had been repaired several times, by the looks of things, but never the less, she was very pretty. Aalina recognised her as one of the maids that Murtagh had taken a fancy to. No doubt she had hoped to be 'of service' to her master just now.

Feeling rather superior, Aalina ordered the maid to fetch some poppy seed and set a fire in the grate in order that the room warmed up. She also made sure to send for a large goblet of water, because she often found that water helped ease the pain of her own headaches.

Once the maid had started a fire and left to fetch what she had been bidden, Aalina returned to the bed. Her confidence had strengthened with the passing minutes, and so she wasn't afraid to pull Tag's head into her lap. He moaned in protest and pain when she began to move him, but once she started to stroke his fine, pretty hair, he quietened. She knew from experience that having someone soothe your hair comforted a pained head.

Being a lord, Murtagh was spared to expense of soaps, shampoos, conditioners and the like in order to wash himself, and so his hair was soft and shiny and clean and wonderfully fragranced. She had always liked Tag's hair, and often stroked it when they were children…she had missed this, their quiet moments, after they had exhausted themselves playing and lay together contentedly. Now, of course, they never played together. Secretly, she wouldn't have minded it herself, but she knew that they were both grown and must be more dignified than to play, so they spent their time walking or riding or playing chess. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy those things…it just…wasn't the same. It had been a long time (she felt) since he had permitted her to stroke his hair. The fact that he was allowing her to now pleased her more than she would care to admit.

* * *

By the time the maid came back with the water and the poppy seeds, Tag had nearly fallen asleep in her arms.

"Tag…" She murmured, so as not to disturb him too much, "Here…"

She took the seeds and water from the maid and helped him swallow them before placing the half empty goblet on the small table next to the bed. She dismissed the maid without looking up, and resumed her stroking.

Soon Tag's breaths slowed and she could tell that he was sleeping. As well as the fact that he was in pain, she knew he was tired because he had spent half the night awake and 'playing' with another of the maids. It always made her blush to think of what Tag did at night, because no one had ever really told her what bed play actually entailed...only that it involved a man and a woman, and neither wore clothes. The idea scared her slightly, but Tag seemed to enjoy it, so it couldn't have been as horrible as she imagined.

She supposed, in a way, that she was also jealous. Jealous of the women that Tag seemed to prefer over her, despite the fact that they were only maids and she was a lady. Jealous of the knowing glances they would exchange with him at dinner or in the hallways. Jealous, most of all, because of the smirks and smug looks the maids gave her, as if they were better than her, more worthy of Murtagh's time and attention. Once, she had complained to Tornac, but he had told her not to think on it. He'd said that they were only silly, attention craving young girls that Murtagh would quickly grow bored of and replace. Certainly, she had to concede that he never kept one maid in his bed for more than a few nights before moving onto another. Of course, there were only a certain number of young, pretty maids in the household, but still…

She mentally shook herself. Lately, she'd been having these thoughts more and more. It did not do for young ladies to occupy themselves with dark and jealous thoughts.

As slowly as she could, Aalina rearranged the pillows behind her so that her back was more supported, and settled herself as comfortably as possible. She had no idea how long Murtagh would sleep, but she had no qualms about sitting with him the rest of the day and into the night.

How she had missed him…even though he had not left her for one day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Once I again I failed miserably at updating quickly. I'm a terrible human. But college consumes all of my time so I guess I have an excuse...enjoy!**

* * *

"Gangá! Gangá!" Aalina shouted above the winds.

Captain obeyed her. He liked going fast.

She felt the falter in rhythm as he made a flying change, from canter to gallop. Beside her, she heard the beat of Valentino's hooves increase as well, as Murtagh urged the horse on. When she was little, she was afraid of going too quickly on her ponies because riding side saddle meant that it was harder to stay on, but now she had almost perfect balance.

She found herself laughing as Captain pulled ahead. He always was the faster horse. Valentino, ever reserved, purposely shortened his steps in order to remain dignified, even in gallop. She felt Captain's shoulders moving in front of her and reveled in his power.

It was the height of summer once more and she was a young lady of 14. Tornac had permitted her and Murtagh out of lessons early in order that they could exercise their horses and practice their riding skills. The estate they lived on had hundreds of acres of land but the children knew the trails well, so there was no danger of them getting lost.

Remembering that she was supposed to be honing her riding skills, Aalina checked herself. She made sure that her arms were strong and still and that her legs were not positioned too far back or forward. Riding side saddle was a nuisance, but she had grown used to it over time. Sometimes she wished that she could don breeches like a man and ride with one leg on either side of her horse, but she knew it would look ridiculous on a woman.

The line of trees that signaled the finish line of their little race passed her in a blur and she pulled back on the reins to slow Captain down. The unfortunate side to Captain was the he was unruly and strong. Over the year that she had owned him, Aalina had learned to give half halts in order to make him listen to her if he was being stubborn, so when he failed to slow down at first, she gave twitches on alternate sides of the reins.

He finally slowed to a walk, and then a halt. Behind her, she heard Murtagh and Valentino trotting to catch up. He had only crossed the finish line a few seconds after her, but it was a clear victory for her. She smiled at him sweetly as Valentino came to stand by Captain's side.

"I win!"

Murtagh snorted, "I think you'll find that _Captain _won."

"Whatever. You're just a sore loser," She grinned.

They turned their horses towards a small copse and joined a familiar trail through the trees, side by side. She was still a little breathless with exhilaration, and her forehead had a few beads of sweat clinging to her skin from the heat. Murtagh looked much the same way. They walked in silence for a few minutes, letting the horses stretch their legs into an easy stride and loosening their reins. Birds were singing melodically in the branches, though she could not see where exactly they were.

She glanced across at her companion. Murtagh was now a tall youth of 16 (just), and had allowed his thick, dark hair to grow out slightly. His skin was even more tanned than usual thanks to the copious amount of time that they'd spent outside in the past few weeks, and his cheekbones were as high and defined as ever. His muscles had developed a noticeable amount recently, and she attributed this to Tornac pushing him harder than ever in weapons training.

She had changed too, she knew. Her hair had also grown, and now it fell across her shoulders and down to her waist in a shiny, dark veil. She had her maids style it up in elegant hair styles each day so that it was out of the way and made her seem grown up and sophisticated. Her skin was more tanned too (though not as much as his) and a light smattering of freckles had appeared across her nose and cheeks as they did every summer. She liked them and was of the opinion that they made her more pretty, but she didn't know what Tag thought of them. Maybe he hadn't even noticed. She had grown taller also, and her curves had become more pronounced. She knew that Tag _had _noticed this change, however, because several times she'd caught him looking. It made her blush with pleasure.

"Isn't it a lovely day?" She asked him, breaking the silence.

He nodded, gazing up at the blue, cloudless sky, "Mm. I'm glad we were allowed out early. Valentino was eager to stretch his legs again. It's been a while since I took him out…I felt a little guilty."

She laughed, "I'm sure he forgives you."

Both of them had a few horses, and for the past week, Murtagh had been riding another of his horses, Bracken. He reached down and patted Valentino's shoulder affectionately, but firmly.

"I hope so."

He looked up and smiled at her. It was a moment of rare tranquility for him. Lately his shoulders had been stiff and his brow had been increasingly furrowed. She wasn't sure of the reason, but she didn't like to comment. She was glad that he was so relaxed now.

They turned onto a side trail and began walking along the shore of the small lake that was situated on the land. It was more of a large pond, really, but she had always thought of it as a lake because it was much more romantic. She noticed Murtagh looking longingly at the still water.

"It looks so cool…" He murmured.

She had to agree. The water was still and silvery blue, perfectly reflecting everything around it. It looked very inviting. She had a sudden urge to strip off her dress and swim in it, just as they had done when they were very young. But she knew Murtagh would never permit that kind of thing anymore. It was a shame...she was so very hot.

"Mm. I imagine it would be very refreshing."

They carried on walking for a half minute, before Murtagh spoke again.

"Lina…?"

"Mm?"

"Would you like to go swimming?"

She looked across at him so quickly that she thought she heard her neck click.

"Really?!" Her voice was full of joyous optimism and she hoped very much that he was being serious.

He nodded and she smiled.

"I would love to."

They steered their horses over to the edge of the trees so that the horses could be in the shade whilst they were in the water. Murtagh dismounted first and threw Valentino's reins over a tree branch before coming around the front of Captain. He approached her and put his hands on her waist firmly. She placed her hands on his shoulders and slid down from the saddle with his help.

She smiled at him shyly, "That was very gentlemanly of you."

Images of Murtagh as her knight in shining armour ran through her mind quickly as she loosely secured Captain's reins on a branch.

He laughed quietly and began stripping off his clothes. He removed his jerkin and light undershirt before taking of his shoes. When he bent to remove his breeches, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

"Murtagh!" She protested loudly.

He twisted to look at her with a smirk, "I don't want to ruin them…"

She covered her eyes with her hands, mortified at the thought of seeing him with no clothes on (despite the many times that she'd wondered what he looked like). She heard him laughing heartily, completely unashamed at his nudity.

"Go into the water." She commanded firmly.

He laughed again and the sound of his footsteps ensued, before the quite sound of the water being disturbed. She waited a moment before removing her hands and peeking at him. He was waist deep in the water, still with a mischievous grin on his face.

"It's very cool. You should hurry up."

She didn't have to be told twice. She reached behind herself and undid the ties of her dress. Because it was the summer, she was only wearing a thin dress, so it was easy to remove. She let the shell of material fall to the ground and began to untie her corset before becoming suddenly aware of Murtagh's gaze. She looked up at him.

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because you're making me feel uncomfortable!"

He smirked again but did as she asked. Devoid of his watchful eyes, she removed her corset and placed it on top of her dress. Then she had a moment of indecision. Should she remove her shift too? That would leave her completely naked…but as Murtagh said, she didn't want to ruin it in the water. She was terrified that Murtagh would see her, but the thrill of the idea also appealed to her.

In a moment of boldness, she slipped the shift from her shoulders and ran quickly into the water. Thankfully, she was able to submerge herself before Murtagh turned around. It was wonderfully cool.

She blushed as Tag raised his eyebrows at her bare shoulders.

"I didn't want to ruin my shift," She explained quickly, still blushing.

"I see," He smirked. He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

"Come on, let's swim properly," She insisted, beginning to pull her body into a front crawl. She was careful not to get her perfectly styled hair wet.

They swam together for maybe half an hour, occasionally splashing each other playfully and laughing. Murtagh had always been a stronger swimmer than her, so he beat her by miles in both of the races they had, but she took it with good grace, not wanting to spoil the moment.

Finally, they agreed to get out and carry on with their ride, having been suitably refreshed.

"You get out first," She demanded of him, "I'm going to close my eyes and I won't open them until you say that you're dressed. Don't you _dare _to try and trick me. It _won't _be funny."

He laughed, "Okay. I promise," And turned to walk towards the shore.

She snapped her eyes shut at once, not wanting to peek by accident. It was quiet for a few seconds, but she didn't hear him reach the shore.

"Are you there yet?" She called.

His voice came from very close in front of her.

"No," He murmured.

Her eyes snapped open in surprise and she let out a little gasp, just in time to see him lean forwards and kiss her softly. For a moment, as their lips met, all she felt was shock. She stood very still, eyes wide and completely unsure as to what her response was supposed to be. Slowly, pleasure bloomed inside her at the presence of his soft lips on hers, and she let her eyes drift closed.

She felt him smile as she began to kiss him back. She was hesitant, unsure as to how one should kiss, but he more than made up for her inexperience. He was confident, quickly placing his hands on her waist and pulling her closer under the water.

"Relax…" He murmured, breaking contact momentarily.

She sighed at his bidding, and felt her arms lift and curl around his neck. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her bottom lip. She stiffened in surprise and he took the opportunity to push it gently into her mouth. She pulled back in shock.

"You put your tongue in my mouth!"

"Of course I did. How did you think people kissed?"

She frowned, "I –"

He kissed her again, putting his tongue in her mouth once more. She recoiled, but he held her firmly until she grew used to what he was doing. She wasn't sure she liked it, but she wanted to keep him happy, so she let him do it.

* * *

**I know that in the Inheritance Cycle, Murtagh's horse is named Tornac, but I assume that's because he was named as such after the man died. **

***Gangá means 'go' in the Ancient Language**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I don't think I've ever updated this quickly. I'm impressed with myself! **

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL IMAGERY (IN LINE WITH 'S RULES). IT IS NOT EXPLICIT, BUT THIS IS A MUCH MORE ADULT CHAPTER THAN THE OTHERS HAVE BEEN. THINGS WILL GO BACK TO NORMAL AFTER THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE.**

* * *

She ached all over. Even with the feather mattress and piles of soft blankets, she was unable to get comfortable. She had not known this would happen…she had not known about anything. Her face flushed hot as she remembered the day before and she was unsure as to whether or not she had enjoyed it.

Yesterday, after they had finished kissing in the lake, Murtagh had pulled her from the water with him, despite her protests at him seeing her with no clothes on. Granted, that _had _been his intention. He had tugged her stumbling from the water and into the treeline. He hadn't been rough, but he had been demanding, and she had known that she did not really have a choice about doing whatever it was that he wanted. He had pushed her against a tree and the hard, rough bark had hurt her back, but he had ignored her complaints.

Sex did not last as long as she had thought. It was rather messier than she had expected too, and more painful, but Murtagh didn't seem to experience any pain at all. She had cried a little at first, but he had wiped the tears away and ignored her request for him to 'stop for _just a moment'_. He hadn't stopped for one second. He was very greedy with her, kissing her all over and seeming to want everything she had. After a while, she had started to enjoy it more. _Yes, _he was rough, and _yes, _he was greedy, and _yes, _the tree bark was scraping her skin, but when he pulled her to the ground with him, they had lain in the soft grass and everything had been better.

Her cheeks warmed as she remembered the way he looked at her, as if she were finally worthy of his attention. She remembered how she had liked the kisses he gave her and how after a while, his movements had started to feel nice. He was very beautiful, she recalled now. He was muscled and tanned and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, exactly what he wanted. She had liked that. He hadn't even complained about her fumbling, her inexperience. He had even laughed a little, not unkindly.

So yes, she was very confused now. After it was over he had lain by her side for a while. Not long enough, in her opinion. All too soon they were dressing and she was trying to wash the blood from her legs in the lake. Riding back to the house had been very uncomfortable for her, and when they had finally reached it he had handed his reins to a stable boy and strode away without a word. That had confused her the most. Hadn't she pleased him?

She had followed him inside a few minutes later, awkwardly climbing the stairs to her room and lying on her bed. After about half an hour she had begun crying, and she wasn't even sure why, but she hadn't seemed to be able to stop. Dinner was a horrible affair for her. Murtagh had not even looked at her as she sat by his side and she was constantly terrified that either he or Tornac would notice she had been crying, even though she had made sure to clean her face.

Luckily, neither of them had, and she had retreated to her room and fallen asleep before it was even properly dark. Now, she was lying awake, staring at her canopy and trying to think of something, _anything _that would explain how cold Murtagh was acting towards her. Suddenly, the images of every maid that Murtagh had ever taken into his bed flooded into her mind. She remembered their desperate faces at meal times, hoping that he would notice them again after he had grown bored of them. She remembered how contemptuous she had always felt of them.

She shuddered. Soon, her maids would arrive to wake her up and prepare her for the day and she would have to go down to breakfast and endure his cold shoulder. It made her angry, almost, to consider. She had done nothing wrong! If anything, she should be giving _him_ the cold shoulder. Her union with him had been nothing like she had ever dreamed it would be. He had dragged her into a _wood _for the love of the Gods. They had not been in a bed in the quiet of night, he had not told her how beautiful she was, he had not promised to love her forever. And it had been her _first_.

She willed herself to be angry with him, but she couldn't. She could never be angry with him. She supposed it was one of her vices. Tornac could be angry with him. Tornac could always tell him no, would never let him do anything he didn't want him to. But her? She always let him do whatever he wanted and was never angry about it. She loved him too much.

_Knock knock._

"Miss? It's time to get up now."

The door opened with a click and two young women bustled in. One went over to the window and pushed open the curtains, flooding the room with light. The other came over to her bed and pushed the covers back, helping her to sit up. As she did so, her muscles screamed at her, and she winced.

"Are you alright, miss?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Just a little sore from our riding yesterday," She smiled, hoping that it didn't look too strained.

"Your riding, miss?"

"Murtagh and I went out on the trails with Captain and Valentino yesterday afternoon. It was glorious weather," She explained, leaving out the part where Murtagh had taken her maidenhead.

She recoiled from the idea of telling her maids that information. They would be contemptuous and jealous and would laugh at her behind her back more than they already did.

"I see, that must have been nice, miss,"

As she was speaking, the maid guided Aalina over into the garderobe and began picking garments out for her. It was standard practice, the maids would chatter with her each day as they were preparing her for the day or for bed. It was meaningless, and Aalina knew that the maids really had no cares for what she would say.

It seemed that they weren't the only ones.

* * *

"Good morning, Aalina," Tornac greeted her politely from the breakfast table as she walked in.

She had been given a lovely, lilac dress to wear today. She was wearing a matching necklace and hair net, both studded with amethysts. Her dark hair had been brushed and a rosy powder had been pressed lightly onto her cheeks. Her neck and wrists had been dabbed with a lavender perfume and she felt thoroughly refreshed.

"Good morning, Tornac. Good morning, Murtagh," She decided to try and force Murtagh to at least acknowledge her.

The dark haired boy looked up from the apple he had been eating. There was a slight pause, before he replied, "Good morning."

She settled himself across the table from him as he went back to his fruit, triumphant in her small victory. She reached for a peach, plucking it from the silver platter it rested on and requesting a salmon from the waiting servants. She never normally had meat in the mornings, but she found that she was very hungry this morning.

"Did you sleep well, Aalina?" Tornac asked her as she began to munch her way through the fruit.

She swallowed, "Yes, thank you."

It was not a lie; she had slept the night through in a completely dreamless, heavy haze. For that, she was very glad.

"How was your ride yesterday? Murtagh said he found it very enjoyable," He continued, reaching for a peach himself. She wished he would stop. She didn't feel like making conversation today.

"It was nice. Did he tell you that I won our race?" She smiled, enjoying the fact that she could boast.

Murtagh snorted next to her, "Only because Valentino is a pompous old man who refuses to go faster than a trickle of mud."

"Excuses, excuses…" She teased him, "I told you, a good work man never blames his tools!"

"Whatever…"

And just like that, the tension between them was broken.

* * *

That afternoon, they sat outside and played chess on the table that the servants had set up for them, and she lost quite spectacularly, as usual. He teased her mercilessly, getting his own back for her jabs at him at breakfast. She pretended to be annoyed and argued back, but secretly she was just happy that they were friends again.

She would have forgotten that the lake incident had ever happened, but three days later, he came into her room after they had both gone abed, and she knew that nothing would ever be the same.

After that, he would come to her regularly. At first she would be annoyed that he was disturbing her sleep, but he always managed to win her around. No time was ever as horrifying as her first, and pretty soon she stopped experiencing any pain at all. She loved that whenever he came to her he would be gentle and sweet and afterwards he would fall asleep with her.

He never gave her the cold shoulder again, for which she was relieved. Their days were spent much the same as they ever had been, teasing and friendly. They never showed any hint of their night time activities, which disappointed her at first, but she soon grew used to it. But whenever they shared their nights, she would see another side of him, a side she had never seen before. A side that was vulnerable and raw and not hidden behind the lord's mask that he usually wore. That was her favourite part. For that part, she could endure her sleep being disturbed. For that part, she could endure that fact that she was not his one and only. For that part, she could endure that she loved him and he didn't love her.

Because he would be discovered in her bed in the morning, it was no longer a secret. Tornac had pulled her to one side at breakfast the first time it happened and asked her if she wanted it to stop, but she was still buzzing that he had stayed the night with her and refused. After that, he didn't ask again.

To begin with, she was secretly furious that Murtagh continued inviting maids into his bed. She had expected that because he was visiting her now, that would stop. But it didn't. It shamed her at first, to think that he treated her just the same as he treated the maids, as if she were no better than them…as if she were only for his pleasure too (which she really was). But eventually she realised that she was the only one that he ever visited. If he ever played with a maid, he would tell them to come to his chambers at night and when he was done with them he would make them leave. But with her, _he_ would come to _her_ and stay the whole night wrapped up in her arms and she in his. She did not know what he was like with the maids, but she suspected that he was the way he had been with her the first time – rough and selfish. At night, he was still selfish with her, but he was also gentle and he took notice of what she wanted and didn't want.

Even though neither of them said it, she knew she was different to the maids. She knew she meant something to him, even if it wasn't the way she wanted. She could live with that.

* * *

***Garderobe - the medieval room where clothes were stored (essentially a walk in wardrobe). It was also the place for the...umm...water closet. But hey, they were weird. Who stores their clothes in their bathroom? Eh...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I know, I'm scum. I haven't uploaded for about a millenia. I'm a terrible person. **

* * *

It was far past midnight when Aalina awoke. Her room was dark and all she could see were the faint outlines of her furniture, stark and block-like in the dim. An owl hooted outside. Another replied. She rolled over onto her right side, believing that the noises of the birds were what had woken her.

Suddenly, there was a weight on the other side of the bed. The mattress dipped and the blankets were lifted so that someone else could slip in beside her. She startled gently, but then relaxed as Murtagh's arms wrapped around her. He had never visited her this late before.

His lips were soft as he nuzzled her hair and cheek, hands already wandering.

"It's late…" She murmured, eyes drooping as her body began to fall back into slumber, "Too late…"

"It's not too late," He replied. His voice was quiet in her ear, "It's only too late when I say it is."

She sighed as he pulled her over to face him, annoyed that he was disturbing her so late. She didn't care what he said, he shouldn't come to her past midnight. It was unfair of him. But as soon as he began to kiss her properly, she forgave him.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay together in the growing light. She sensed that dawn was approaching and that they didn't have much time left to sleep before her maids would barge in and rouse them. It irked her that they were forced to get up so early for their lessons, but she couldn't worry too much about anything at the moment. She was still glowing, floating from the pleasure of their union.

"Murtagh?"

His arms tightened gently around her bare stomach. Their bodies were entwined, neither of them bothering to move from the way they had fallen.

"Mm?"

"Why did you come so late?" She found that it was always easier to get an answer out of him after they finished in bed because he was relaxed and off-guard. She knew it was devious, but she didn't really care.

"Couldn't sleep…" He mumbled.

"Why?"

"Thinking..."

She frowned. Murtagh never had problems sleeping, "About what?"

"I have to go soon."

His answer startled her, "Go where? Why?"

There was a long pause, filled with the tickling sensation of him tracing patterns on her skin. To her, it felt like the silence lasted for days.

"Never mind, Lina. Don't worry."

"Why would I worry? Tell me, Tag, please," She twisted around to try and see his face. The dim light only allowed her to see the outline of his jaw and long, straight nose. So aristocratic.

"I just have to go in a while."

"Go back to your room, you mean?"

Another pause. Then, "Yes, Lina. Back to my room."

"Oh. I know that."

"Yes, you do, Lina."

She could sense that he was becoming sleepy.

"Tag, you'll tell me if there's something wrong, won't you? If you're troubled, I mean. I'm your friend, aren't I? I'm supposed to help you."

"Mm."

"Murtagh."

"Mm?"

"Aren't I, Murtagh?"

"Yes, Lina."

She knew he had no idea what he was saying 'yes' to. Oh well... she was too sleepy, too high to care.

* * *

Murtagh visited her the next night too. This was the first time he had ever come two nights in a row. He again came late and troubled. She could tell that something was wrong from the distracted way he touched her, kissed her. His mind was somewhere else.

When they lay together afterwards, she tried to pry more out of him, but he seemed to be expecting it and wouldn't say anything. He only told her not to worry – which of course made her worry more.

* * *

"Tornac?" She knocked on his study door gently, "Are you there?"

The sound of footsteps ensued and the door swung open. He stood there, far taller then she and with a faint smile on his face.

"Why, Aalina, shouldn't you be outside with Murtagh? Or is it too cold? The approaching winter does like to make itself known, doesn't it?"

"No – I mean, yes. But Murtagh is in his room and he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Why not?" His voice became stern, as if he believed that they were arguing again.

"N-no, I mean, he – we – we're not – that is – we're not arguing or anything."

He peered down at her. She tried to avoid his eyes but they somehow drew her in. They had a habit of doing that.

"What's wrong, Aalina?"

"Nothing with me," She blurted quickly, "I'm worried. He told me not to – I mean – when we were – I mean – after we – he said – I –"

"Aalina." Tornac swiftly put a stop to her stuttering, "Tell me clearly, girl."

She took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"Can I come in?"

* * *

"Tea?"

"No, thank you."

The high-backed chair she sat on was made of polished oak and had no cushion. It was highly uncomfortable, but Tornac made his look like it was the softest of feather pillows. He sat behind his desk, hands neatly clasped on top of a huge book that – from the look of the crinkled yellow pages she could see peeking out of the sides – was very, _very _old. The air was musty and thick and didn't help her nerves. It probably had something to do with the thick, velvet curtains that Tornac had drawn shut against the light even though it was the middle of the afternoon.

She didn't know why she was so nervous. Well, that was a lie. She did know why she was so nervous, she just didn't want to admit it to herself. Tornac, the old tutor with the stern voice and the frowning eyes, _made _her nervous. Always had, always would. She tried to take a deep breath to steady her nerves but all she got was a lung full of dust.

Great.

"So, tell me, Aalina. Why did you come and see me?"

She stared resolutely at the table and tried to imagine that she was talking to someone with a friendlier face. At least someone who didn't have angry eyes like he did.

"I'm worried about Murtagh…he's been acting strangely for a while. He seems to be very troubled by something and it's started disturbing his sleep. He won't tell me what it is, but he tells me not to worry and I know it's silly of me but I can't help it."

She wasn't sure how many breaths she had taken in that sentence and she was almost certain that it wasn't grammatically correct, but at least she had got it out.

"You are very sweet to be so worried about him, girl."

"I am?"

Tornac shifted, "I think I know of what you speak, and you don't have to think any more of it. I believe this was always going to happen."

"What was?" She was even more confused now than she had been a few moments ago, "I don't understand."

Tornac sighed, "Murtagh is approaching his seventeenth birthday now, is he not?"

She nodded, "Yes, but –"

"When he reaches the age of eighteen, the king will send for him to live in the capital and study under him. Murtagh will become a servant of the king, just as his father was, and he will have to leave this life behind for a much harder, harsher one."

She was silent for a long time. Murtagh…leave? Would she be able to go with him? And if not, what would happen to her? Would she be thrown out onto the street? What would become of him under the king's control?

Tornac interrupted her thoughts, "I believe Murtagh is becoming increasingly worried about the prospect. I always knew that it would be hard for him to accept. He…he is not like his father. I do not think that he will acclimatise to his new life easily."

"But…he still has a year left, doesn't he?"

Tornac bowed his head, "Yes…but that is not a very long time, girl."

She sat there, unsure of what to do or say.

She was so stupid. How could she not have thought of this? She had known that it was Murtagh's destiny to work for the king but she never expected it to happen so soon. She wished that they could remain as they were forever and ever and never change anything.

A chill of fear swept through her.

What was going to happen?


End file.
